


the sky will not be grey

by britpop



Category: Blur, British Singers RPF
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 20:56:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11471535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/britpop/pseuds/britpop
Summary: As Damon's addiction worsens the stability of his and Justine's relationship begins to grow slim, because of this she starts to turn towards an old source of comfort as Damon pretends not to chase an old flame.





	1. you've got a vicious streak

**Author's Note:**

> i hate to bring the bad news before the good news has even begun to settle in, but i don't think this one will ever be finished but figured i should deliver at least half way. so here are three chapters of what could have been good, but due to mental illness probably won't ever be finished : ( thank you all so much for sticking on, if anything is posted after this it'll probably be suede-related. sorry blur fans. title is from new order's "turn my way"
> 
> all my love,  
> L x

“You remember the Emin piece we saw the other day?” She asked, looking over at Damon who was sprawled out over the orange mattress with his head tilted towards the window. “Well, it was about a year ago, actually, but time flies, you know?”  
There was a silence. Damon wasn’t listening again, he was in the clouds again. Or in the drugs again, more than likely.  
“Damon.” She said, a little louder this time.  
Slowly, his head turned to face hers as she pulled on her coat. “Where are you going?” He mumbled, turning onto his side and wrapping the blanket around himself.  
“We’re going out, remember?” She replied, beginning to pull lightly on her hair, a habit of anxiety. “To the bakery, or something of that likes. You said, remember?”  
Her voice was more of a tone of concern than of annoyance, she’d always been too sympathetic towards her partners and especially this one.  
This boy of crisp dirty blonde hair, upturned nose, and blue eyes. She always felt a compulsion to apologize to him, even when he did wrong, and in these later days he’d not so much been ‘fucking up’ but rather not doing anything at all. Which was almost worse. 

“I don’t think I said that, Justi.” He replied, eyes closed. “I don’t think I’ve said anything.”  
“Damon, I know … Can you just get up, please? And we’ll get some breakfast, help you up, okay?” She spoke softly, leaning down some towards the bed to gently raise Damon’s head up with the palm of her hand. “Let’s just get up, okay?”  
“Okay, Justi. I can get up.” He rubbed his head against her hand, moving to give her a kiss. “Just a little help, yeah?” He asked and she nodded.  
Though smiling, she felt a heavy sense of guilt, helping him get up to a sitting position somehow felt like she was enabling him to do wrong.  
_You’re just an armchair to nod off in, Justine. Why are you doing this to yourself?_ She wondered as she held his hands, looking up at him as he hung his head down.  
“Would you like me to get you some clothes, angel?” She asked, quiet, and brushed away some of the hair in his eyes.  
There was a quiet yawn before he nodded, slowly bringing himself upright as though being controlled by strings, and Justine felt like she’d just witness a contortionist spontaneously as she looked on.  
“I’d love that, yes, please.” He slurred, eyes closed as he stretched his arms above his head.

She ran her fingers through her hair, letting it fall over and over as she continued her habit. The closet was a mess of both her’s and his clothes’, and in a hurried panic picked out a dark maroon sweater and blue jeans for him, which she draped neatly on the bed beside him.  
She watched as he put on the clothes he was given, a hand in her pocket and the other scratching at her thigh. He seemed to struggle, every muscle moving painfully slothish as he dressed himself. 

“Were you saying something about an enemy, darling?” Damon asked as he tied the laces to his Adidas, voice still sluggish.  
“Emin.” She corrected.  
“Emin, even.”  
“I was asking if you remembered ‘Everyone I Have Ever Slept With,’ the one we saw at the gallery in London.” She continued, hoping to fill in any blanks he had.  
“Oh, yeah. The tent, right?” He raised himself up, pulling down the sweater some to stretch it out on himself. “Did this sweater shrink in the wash?”  
“It … Actually might be mine, come to look at it.” She replied, beginning to grow restless with this scenery. 

 

They’d finally made it to where they’d meant to go, after Damon dodged the paparazzi by mistakenly lunging himself into the backseat of the wrong car, as Justine stood mouth open staring at the scene.  
“Oh, oh my god. You’re not Justine, oh my god. I’m so sorry.” Damon had whimpered, hurrying to crawl out and into Justine’s car instead.  
“You’re a proper mess today, Day.” She commented as they received their food from a shaky waitress.  
Damin had been staring down at his reflection in the metallic table, occasionally running a few fingers down his reflection’s face. Yet when she spoke, his attention became immediately drawn to her. And, as he always did, he placed a cheek on the bottom half of his palm to watch her as she spoke. Soft brown eyes looking on with concern, voice steady and reassuring to his mixed up mind. Her concern was of his health, which he was always “certain” of, but appreciated the worry nonetheless.  
“Oh, my baby …” He mumbled as he cut into his eggs, smiling down at the yoke. “Oh, my baby … You worry about me too much.”  
“I worry about you just enough, Damon, you’re worrisome.” She replied, anxiously picking at her food. “I mean, you think you’re healthy?”  
“I eat three square meals a day, I brush my teeth, I shower, wash my hair. I keep myself aligned.” He spoke between bites, looking up at her.  
“I don’t think that necessarily means you’re healthy, Damon, I just think that means you know how to listen to your mother.”  
“How else to stay healthy but by listening to your mother?” He asked, rolling his eyes.  
“By not doing drugs.” She snapped back.  
She was met by an eye roll, and silence. He continued to eat, not looking up at her but instead out the window beside them. When he finished eating, he looked back at her to simply announce his departure. “I’ve to get to rehearsal.” He told her as he stood up, leaning over the table to give her a kiss, and promptly left without discussion of pay. 

 

“Hello, Brett?” She asked into the phone, in the dim orange lighting of her bedroom, where she’d found herself seeking comfort in old friends after Damon’s rude departure.  
“Anderson, yeah.” The voice, quiet with, to her, and evident forceful confident replied.  
“It’s Justine, yeah, tone the ego down a bit, please.” She commented with a shy laugh.

“Oh! Oh, Justine. Oh, Justine. Hello.” The coolness of his voice faltered, triggering a crack in his vocal confidence. “What’s happening?”  
“Nothing, really, just. You know.” She shrugged on her end, reaching over to the small stack of CDs with the word ‘Suede’ written over them. 

“Yeah,” he mumbled, combing his hair behind his ear as he ran his fingers along the black velvet of his blanket. “Was just about to down some.”  
“Valium?” She asked, recalling a lyric in the debut.  
“You’ve heard the record, then?”  
“Yeah,” she laughed anxiously. “Who’s this water sign causing you so much angst, got yourself all riled up and whiny about?”  
His laughs to her were alway quiet, as though speaking to a childhood crush, which in a way he was. “Oh, just some … Some someone …”  
“Awh, has Brett a little hang up on some broad?” She teased, smiling as she flipped through the CD booklets of photos of him.  
“A gentlemen, rather, suppose … But it isn’t a deal, really …” He trailed off, running his hands down the side of his face and neck, biting nervously on his tongue.  
“A gentlemen !” She proclaimed, eyes widening. “What a lovely way to word it, ‘a gentlemen,’ and how’s that? What’s his hang up?”  
“Well that’s the problem … He does nothing but hang up, won’t even pick up.” He mumbled.  
“One night stand, love?” She asked, sympathetic to his attachment.  
“Several nights,” he corrected, sounding small. “He liked me for several nights, now nothing.”

“Oh, love. You can’t get bent over things like this, even if it makes for a good record.”  
“But it’s just so hard … it breaks one’s will.” He sighed, leaning back to stare up at the shirtless photo of David Bowie above the couch-like bed he slept on. “I’ve been reading more, about astrology, it’s my Leo in Venus that won’t let me let this go.”  
“Oh, Christ, Brett. What’s Jupiter telling you, hmm?” She twirled her hair around her finger, blushing at the sound of his coy voice.  
“Jupiter? Well that’s in Leo, also, and –”

“I was kidding, love. I’m glad you’ve found something to entertain yourself with, though. I know how lonely you can get.” She sighed, reaching for the scotch tape by her bedside to quickly attach a press photo of Brett to her wall.  
“It gets really quiet sometimes in here. If there isn’t a record on, there’s just silence in here. It makes it colder, the flat’s already cold as it is.” He mumbled, moving to pull down his jeans as he held the phone between his jaw and shoulder. “And you know I’d rather no company, it always just ends in detachment. You know?”  
“Yeah, love, I know.” She replied, softly, checking the time idly. “You really ought to get out more, mingle. Make some friends.”  
“I don’t need friends,” he replied.  
“Oh, Brett. You know what it is you always used to joke about, the Warhol quote?”  
He smiled gently as his cat, slender black female stray, jumped onto his stomach, ready for bed. “Which one?” He asked, running his fingers through his cat’s fur.  
“You know, about sociability.” She recalled as she set the phone down for a moment, to take off her top and bra to slide into something more comfortable. It was late, after all.  
“Oh, oh yeah. Yeah. ‘I have Social Disease. I have to go out every night. If I stay home one night I start spreading rumors to my dogs.’ That one?”  
“Yeah, yeah, but with your cats instead of dogs.” She joked, to which he giggled some. A warm, inviting gesture that made her miss him all the more. He was so gentle, informed. Still is.  
“I haven’t _that_ many cats… Just Bowie. She keeps me company, that’s all the company I need.”  
“Well maybe I should invest in a cat or two,” she commented, trying to invoke humor but letting out a hint of loneliness. “Could use the company.”  
“What of Damon?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “What ever happened to him?”  
“He’s … He’s around. On the couch or on the bed or, against a wall, or in different car.”  
“Read about that, yeah.” He muttered, holding back his bitterness.  
“I’m sure he’ll sort himself out sooner or later.”  
“Sooner or later could be forever, Justine.”


	2. i keep hanging on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from vicious streak by new order
> 
> L x

Damon sat in the studio, behind the mixing table peering through the glass at his bandmates. His teeth were digging into his thumb as he watched Alex and Graham, a little too close together. He watched as Alex ran his fingers ever, ever so gently down Graham’s arm and Graham blushed.   
“Oh, not now, Alex.” He could make out from his lips, and the implication that these antics had happened prior to this sight sent his mind up in flames.   
“Damon,” sounded Dave who had been watching the latter bitterly look on. “C’mon, Damon, you can’t keep this up forever.”  
“Watch me.” He snapped back, biting down harder on his finger.   
He sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. This constant behavior on Damon’s side was becoming more and more tedious every day. But he took a breath and dealt anyway. “I’m going to get us something to eat, yeah? Try and settle down.”  
“Yeah, alright, Dave.” He muttered, holding back an eye roll as Dave ran his hand across Damon’s shoulder blades as a means of comforting him as he left the mixing room.

He watched as Alex continued to play with Graham, running his hand up the back of his shirt and placing little kisses on his neck and jaw. He supposed they thought that since they couldn’t see through the glass, no one was watching as Alex pulled off his hoodie and folded several times over an amplifier to gently rest Graham on top of it as he continued with his kisses.  
For a moment, Damon’s hand slid between his thighs to rub against himself for a bit before he caught himself. Voyeurism wasn’t his gig. He bit down harder on his thumb, furrowing his brow as he put the headphones over one ear, just to get a listen in on Graham’s noises as Alex slowly raised his shirt up to kiss up his abdomen.   
The most irritating thing about this whole display was the way that they looked at each other like they wanted each other. At other points in times in their lives, with groupies or with prostitutes, Alex always wore this sly grin as he went upon another like prey. He always had this perspective of objectification, probably due to being objectified himself - projection or something, but when he looked at Graham he didn’t wear that grin. He wasn’t even smiling, the emotion was all in his eyes and in the slowness of his movements against Graham. And Graham, jesus christ, his body leaned back against the amp and the way his fingers ran up the back of Alex’s hair. He wanted him, he wanted him, and it infuriated him.  
As Graham released a coy moan as Alex pulled off his shirt, Damon threw the headset down and followed hurriedly after Dave. 

“Oi, Dave, hey. I’ll come with, yeah?” He suggested, reaching out to grab his shoulder to get his attention. “Could use some free air.”  
“Something like that, hm?” Dave replied, slowing down to fall in pace with Damon. “Too hot in there?” He asked as he unlocked his car.  
“It’s a shame. Disgusting, really.” He muttered, climbing into the passenger's seat.   
“It’s the 90s, Damon. Get used to it.”  
“What?” He exclaimed, shooting him a look of offense. “I’m not talking bisexuality, I’m talking their exhibitionism in the studio.”   
Dave rolled his eyes. “You’ve Justine, Damon. Keep your cock in your trousers.”   
“I’m not the one with the issue of sticking my dick in places it doesn’t belong.” He muttered, “Like Graham’s arse.”

 

As Damon arrived hurriedly home, he was met by Justine's voice upstairs – slightly slurred –, talking to a muffled but fretful voice upon the phone.   
“Day has just come,” she said, to which Damon could distinctly make out from the other side of the door a reply of; “It’s been for hours now.”  
“No, Damon, you ponce. You’re too far gone now, lay down, I will be too now.”   
“With Damon?” Said the voice.  
“Yes, warm.” 

And as he opened the door, the phone clicked upon the surface, and there lie Justine in her corner of the bed, smiling lazily at him as the sun bled through the blinds across their bodies.  
“Welcome home, love.” She mused, slouching down into bed some to suggest his joining her.   
“So good to come home to you,” he replied as he began to undress, more than ready to rest after such a frustrating day. “You make it all align.”   
She smiled, wonderfully, and folded her fingers along his jawline as he lean into bed, kissing him gently. Her lips suggested alcohol, demeanor – valium. He’d developed an aversion to the drug due to an admittedly petty fight, but he couldn’t help but hear the lyric in his mind every time the substance came to mind. 

_“Gone, gone to Valium. Could you get me some?  
Pumped up with Valium, could you get me some?”_

He pushed the thoughts and voice away as he fell into bed beside her, soft and lovely as always. He smiled as he hid his nose in the crook of her neck, and she hummed a small sigh of contentment as she rest her head on his, an arm around his shoulders to cradle him against her as though he was a child.  
Their quiet afternoons together were beautiful, pools of serenity where it felt like they bathed in love long past due. When they were silent there was less anxiety, less movement meant more absorption of each other’s warmth and today Damon felt like the sun against her cold skin. Despite her many calls to Brett, she always got the sense that running back to him may be received with cold heartedness, and besides, it was nearly impossible to see her life not involving Damon in some way. She’d grown so accustomed to having his smile around her, be it in the kitchen on mornings when he woke up earlier and decided to cook breakfast, or just upon opening her eyes from a blink to see him there beside her. He’d grown on her, quite immeasurably. So much so that the more he used the more a concern arose that he would become distant, as he had been becoming.   
She was no stranger to drug use herself, so it wasn’t like she could play innocent on this front, even now as they lay together the effects of the Valium were beginning to fully settle in. Years ago her and Brett had tried Valium together, and Brett being the touchy-high type, was running his fingers and hands all over her and occasionally nuzzling her face as though he were a cat. She remembers endless giggling on her part and an occasional whine of “Whaaaat?” from Brett. They’d fallen asleep after some time on the velvet couch of Brett’s then university roommate, her body draped along his with his arms loosely wrapped around her. Much of their intimate moments were accompanied by the use of some kind of downer, and these days she was beginning to see the same pattern arise in Damon.   
Except Damon was quieter, he didn’t demand attention like Brett did, when Damon was gone he had a tendency to slowly curl around the nearest source of warmth. Often times this was her, and she’d have to eventually settle herself into his cat like position around her when she felt the need to lie down as well. 

She remembers a time where they were all together at Damon’s flat, some time ago, and Graham was drunk – this time the sad kind – and she had watched as Alex comforted Graham back down to a soft voice from hysterical crying. And then Damon, almost as though to take dominance over the boy, pulled Graham back into his lap with all the might his heroin filled body could muster and began to play with him. He was running his fingers up Graham’s side, making him giggle, and from what she could make out was pressing kisses along his neck. The incestous manner of the band had always perplexed her, in that one was always fighting over the other (Graham) in a way that almost seemed animalistic.   
They played tug a war with the frail brunette, who seemed more inclined to Alex’s body these days than he did to Damon’s. Which she knew from the get-go when these antics began would prove to be big trouble, and every time she had been around them as of late a heavy tension hung in the air like a fresh noose. 

At least he always kept her on her toes.


	3. our love is like the flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from the village by new order. thank you, at least the end is happy ! 
> 
> L x

“Do you ever look at your eyes?” Alex asked, idly stirring the spoon in his breakfast soup he’d prepared for the both of them.   
“I can’t look at my eyes, Alex,” Graham replied with a smile. “I need my eyes to see my eyes, and I’m not gonna spoon one out, either.”  
Alex let out a breathless laugh, blowing away some of his hair from out of his view. “In the mirror, then. Have you seen your eyes in the mirror?”  
“If I’ve my glasses on, yes. Without, then, no, absolutely not.” He smirked as he spoke, knowing how obvious it was that he was trying to play with Alex’s ridiculous ways of flirtation.

He hung his head in order for his hair to shield his smile in response to Graham’s playing. When he’d recovered from his blushing, he raised his head to look at him again. “Have you ever seen your eyes in the mirror when you’ve your glasses on to see them?” He asked, a little more confident this time.  
“Well, if I’ve the mind to stop by the mirror before I go out and ‘seize the day,’ usually you won’t stop ringing so I’ve to be on my way to yours before I can even tie my trainers!” He continued, and Alex finally gave in and rolled his eyes.  
“No matter, then, either way; they’re lovely, big, brown pools of comfort. If you ever get the chance to see them, with your glasses on in the mirror, or maybe even without your glasses but up close to the glass, you should have a look at them.” He dipped down and took a spoonful of his soup after, eyes directed up at Graham to admire the way his face went red after compliments.   
There was a silence, mostly in part because of Graham’s shyness after losing his battle against flattery, which left Alex with more room for teasing. “You should eat your soup, love, before it’s gone too cold.” He commented.   
Graham seemed to shrink at the teasing, and began to promptly eat.   
“You’ll drown at that rate!” Exclaimed Alex, intending just to panic him some, but instead Graham spit the soup out at Alex.   
“Oh, Christ! You’re a mess, Grahammy, really, jesus.” He laughed, still in light spirits as he used the bottom of his shirt to wipe the soup off his face.  
“ _Grahammy_ !?” He nearly shouted. “I dunno what’s worse ! That that’s almost ‘Grammy’ or that it’s almost ‘Granny!’”  
“Well ‘Granny,’ would suit you proper, you’re such a mum” He joked, and Graham was silenced again by Alex’s charm. 

They were quiet for a bit, Alex eating and Graham looking down at his hands tucked between his thighs, before Graham looked up at Alex shyly.  
“I love you.” He mumbled, a little high pitched despite his efforts to keep his voice down.   
Alex paused, spoon still in hand, but only for a moment as to not frighten Graham into thinking he’d said the wrong thing.   
He smiled wide and warm, “I love you too, baby.” He mused, eyes glued to Graham’s soft face.  
After a time, he stood from his seat and took their bowls from the table to toss in the sink. He snatched up a bottle of champagne, not yet opened, and turned back to him.  
“We better get a move on, then, yeah? If we’re to catch the movie.”   
“Oh, oh, yeah, yeah, absolutely.” He replied somewhat frantically, hurrying to stand up.   
“I’ve got the champagne, you’ve got the car, let’s go.” He flashed a quick smile as he moved past him, Graham following behind, sure to snatch his keys off the key rack before exiting.

“What’re we gonna do with a bottle of champagne?” He asked, “Pull a ‘Withnail and I?’”   
Alex grimaced as he entered the car, “Why not! What is it that he says to that bloke on the street?” He asked as Graham got himself situated in the car. His response was delayed for a moment by getting the car started and beginning their route.  
“He says, uh, he says. He says, uh … ‘Throw yourself into the road, darling, you haven’t got a chance.’” He finally answered.  
Alex had already situated himself with the bottom of his seat all the way back and his feet up on the dashboard when he rolled down the window and popped the champagne open at a man waiting on the street. “Throw yourself into the road, darling! You haven’t got a chance!” He shouted, laughing loudly before taking a large gulp for himself.


End file.
